


The man who cried Chesapeake Ripper

by futuremaker



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: (malicious intent over the long run on hannibal's part but that's no news to anybody), Explicit Consent, M/M, Non-Sexual Spanking, chilton is lonely
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-08
Updated: 2014-04-08
Packaged: 2018-01-18 14:53:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,179
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1432564
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/futuremaker/pseuds/futuremaker
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Spoilers for 2x06.<br/>A look into why Chilton told Hannibal about Jack’s suspicions, as per my own interpretation.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The man who cried Chesapeake Ripper

 

There was an uncomfortable silence between them.

Normally, you could leave it up to Chilton to fill the air between them with mindless chatter, prattling on about this new paper or that terrible psychiatrist who should be shunned by everyone, but today he was eerily quiet. He had been fiddling around with his cane for the last minute, sipping his cognac, and carefully avoiding looking into Hannibal’s direction.

“You seem tense, Frederick.”

Hannibal pointedly took a sip from his glass, silently watching Chilton’s reaction.

The man squirmed in his seat before turning to Hannibal with a smile plastered on his face.

“Oh, it’s nothing.” He shooed the notion away with an absentminded gesture of his hand. “I merely didn’t catch as much sleep as I should have, last night.”

“Nightmares?” Hannibal saw Chilton flinch. “I can imagine that it has been a hard time for you with Abel Gideon back where you have to see him every day.”

Chilton latched onto that like a starved animal.

“It’s indeed a most lamentable situation,” he agreed with that pout he was prone to do. “But at least Dr. Gideon is helping with Will Graham’s treatment.”

“I cannot imagine what you are going through,” Hannibal pushed further, savouring the way Chilton’s nostrils flared. “Seeing the man who eviscerated you on a daily basis… that is enough to make the strongest stomach turn.”

Chilton was getting aggravated now, his restraint overcome by indignation.

“It was the right decision to have Abel Gideon transferred here. He’s been providing us with most valuable insight,” he replied petulantly, his initial reservation now completely forgotten in the face of his questioned pride.

“I am sure he does,” Hannibal agreed. “Anything in particular?”

Chilton instantaneously collapsed in on himself again, looking anywhere but at Hannibal, mouth moving silently.

“Have you tried making him believe he’s the Ripper again?” Hannibal’s stern question was met with a flare in Chilton’s dark eyes. It was almost too easy to get a rise out of him.

“I have not,” Chilton almost snarled, then made a conscious effort to collect himself. “It’s confidential.”

Hannibal considered Chilton’s expression. Snobby, now that he thought he had himself under control again, but with an underlying element of trepidation. A vague undercurrent of uneasiness, so painfully evident ever since Hannibal had broached topics the man was anxious about.

He had, of course, smelled Chilton’s fear out the moment he stepped foot inside his office.

Now he only needed to snuff out how much everyone else knew.

“As your friend, I must tell you that I am extremely worried about you, Frederick.” He decided on sympathy. “You seem like someone completely different today. What happened to you?”

“Oh, you’re my friend, are you?” He scoffed. “I wouldn’t be so sure about that, Dr. Lecter.”

Hannibal made his forehead wrinkle in confusion.

“I… have no idea what you are referring to,” he replied, expression hurt. “I have always considered you a good friend.”

Chilton’s cockiness wavered instantly, his uneasiness changing into confusion and, finally, into pity. Always so easy to sway with some positive emotions shoved in his direction.

“I’m…” Sorry? Afraid? A pitiful excuse for a psychiatrist? Hannibal never found out when Chilton started that sentence anew, voice bolder. “Jack Crawford highly suspects you might be the Chesapeake Ripper after all, since Will Graham and Abel Gideon made… allusions to that fact.”

Ah. Hannibal almost smiled. Instead, he said: “That is exactly what I had feared.”

His calm, unsurprised statement was met with an incredulous stare by Chilton.

“You… you knew?”

“Frederick.” As Hannibal leaned forward with an intense stare, Chilton leaned back hastily, hissing in pain and clutching at the expensive fabric of shirt. “They’re trying to frame you.”

Chilton only looked at him, his mouth slack and his eyes wide open. Then he started laughing with a hint of desperation to his voice but stopped as soon as he realised that Hannibal was actually being serious.

“Framing _me_? But… how! That’s preposterous!”

“In order for Jack Crawford to find out about a conversation Will Graham and Abel Gideon had, you must have told him. What did they say to make you cooperate with their little scheme? That you should be afraid of me, that your life would be in danger?” Chilton’s silence was answer enough. “So when you did what they wanted, what happened?”

“They… Dr. Gideon told Jack Crawford that I had told him about the way your dining room looked, whereas at first he… just seemed to know. Will Graham never told him, I would have known!”

“So they got you to play along, only to make you seem conspicuous when Jack Crawford visited. Did you not feel the fool in that situation?”

Chilton’s face closed off at that, his mouth a thin line and his eyes staring off into the distance, unseeing. With his teeth worrying at his inner cheek he looked even less the psychiatrist and even more the fool, but Hannibal only watched him calmly, taking another sip from his cognac.

“It’s… not entirely unfathomable,” he confessed after a while. “But why would they do that, what do they have to gain?”

“Well, think about it this way: If somebody else were to be convicted as the Chesapeake Ripper, Will Graham would go free. If I am the one framed, he has his petty revenge. If you are the one being framed, he is free to chase me for his petty revenge. And who can say what Abel Gideon thinks. Maybe he thinks that Will Graham is going to help him get free, or maybe… maybe he just wants to see what would happen.”

Chilton nodded, taking a deep gulp of his cognac and filling his glass again.

 “But… now that everything’s out in the open anyway,” he mumbled. “Those jokes you made, all those dinner parties that coincided with the Chesapeake Ripper killing, it… I can’t help but wonder...”

Hannibal smiled vaguely, showing a hint of ridicule on his face.

“Really, Frederick? Hannibal the cannibal?”

“What about the thing about my tongue being feisty and you wanting to cook it?”

“You must admit that you do have a feisty tongue, but a cannibal making food puns? I am hurt, Frederick.”

"You’re… doing a good job at making it sound like a silly notion,” Chilton admitted, looking down to where he was fiddling with his cane. “But how can I be sure? How can I be sure of anything anymore, when reality gets twisted every which way nowadays?”

“You could let me help you,” Hannibal offered, looking intently at Chilton.

“What, like you “helped” Will Graham?” He scoffed. “I think not.”

“I wonder if Abel Gideon was right.”

“What do you mean?” There was apprehension in Chilton’s voice and Hannibal saw his eyes flicker towards his office door.

“He said you both resent and revere me.”

Chilton locked down immediately.

“I heard.”

“I wonder which is stronger.”

“Neither.”

“So you do not deny the existence of those feelings.”

Chilton’s lips were now only two thin white lines in a slightly green-tinted face.

“Or maybe he was right and you do want to be me?”

“That’s enough!” Chilton shot up, leaning heavily on his cane and clutching his stomach with his free hand. His teeth were clenched when he said: “You should be going now, Dr. Lecter, I would hate to be rude to you.”

As requested, Hannibal got up, putting his now-empty glass on the low table. He loomed over Chilton, making him squirm.

“Goodbye, Frederick.”

Chilton watched him go with wide eyes.

“You’re really leaving?”

“Of course. You asked me to.”

On his way to the door Hannibal said, as if in afterthought: “I had really hoped we could be allies, you and I. Standing together against those who try to stop us only because they fear us. But I guess not.”

When his hand touched the door handle, Chilton reacted.

“Wait!”

Hannibal turned around, face blank.

“What do you mean, fear us?”

“Will Graham and Abel Gideon fear us.”

Chilton scoffed. “Will may fear you, but I can assure you that Dr. Gideon is not in the habit of fearing anyone, much less me.”

“You got inside his head.”

Chilton paused, considering, a flurry of emotions flashing over his face.

“You got inside his head and you put thoughts there he accepted as memories,” Hannibal carried on, walking back towards Chilton and stopping only when he was deep, deep, oh so deep in his personal space. He felt the man flinch. “You played God, Frederick, and every criminal fears God. All their wicked deeds laid bare before a great, all-seeing eye. All their shortcomings brought out in the open to be listed and catalogued. All their decisions weighed on a great, golden scale…”

Chilton started to tremble, knuckles on his cane turning first pink, then white.

“Tell me, Frederick,” Hannibal bent down, bringing his mouth very close to Chilton’s ear. “Are you a god-fearing man?”

There was no answer, but Chilton’s cane dropped to the ground with a great clatter as the man drew in a huge gulp of breath, clinging onto Hannibal’s jacket as if his life depended on it. There was a beautiful moment in which Hannibal pictured letting him fall to the ground to grovel at his feet, but he opted for grabbing his elbows, holding him up.

“Are you the devil?”

The question made Hannibal pause, looking down where Chilton had to look up and for just a second, he felt the overpowering desire to break the man’s neck.

“I’m your friend, Frederick,” he answered. “Your true friend, and I want to save you from Will Graham and Abel Gideon’s schemes.”

Chilton nodded, so slowly that it seemed like he was half-asleep. His eyes were fixed on Hannibal’s shirt now, unseeing.

“They want me to suffer, don’t they?”

“They do indeed, Frederick. But can you, in all honesty, say you never did anything to deserve their scorn?”

“I…” Chilton shook his head, his fists shaking where they clutched Hannibal’s clothes. “What can I do? They all hate me! They will frame me for murdering all these people but I never did anything, you have to believe me! I couldn’t hurt a fly!”

“That is not for me to decide, Frederick.” Chilton just kept on talking.

“You have to help me, Hannibal! We’re friends! You’ve also used psychic driving on Will and Gideon said he was in your house, you’re just as suspicious, so why me? I’ve never done anything wrong, all I ever wanted was for people to respect me, I don’t deserve this, I will call Jack right now and explain-“

His blubbering found an abrupt end when Hannibal’s open palm collided with his cheek. Chilton brought a hand up to his face, looking at him with a disbelieving expression.

“You hit me,” he realised, confusion written plainly on his face.

Instead of answering, Hannibal hit his other cheek as well. By now, he had relinquished his grip on Chilton, making the man stumble back in confusion.

He bent to pick up Chilton’s cane, weighing it in his hand.

With a hurt expression, Chilton made a wobbly step to reclaim his property, but Hannibal held the cane out of his reach, looking intently at the man’s face. The hitting couldn’t be the only reason behind his exquisite blush.

“You should leave now,” Chilton reiterated, red face turned towards the ground, not daring to look up at his betters.

“I think not, Frederick.”

Chilton did look up at that, but he hadn’t anticipated how quickly Hannibal could move if need be. In only a matter of seconds, Hannibal had kicked Chilton’s legs out, grabbing him while he was falling, and before he had even had the chance to cry out, he was face down on Hannibal’s lap, his torso and legs hanging down awkwardly.

The man made indignant noises, yammering on about Hannibal’s knees digging in his scar and yelling at him to let go. It took Hannibal pressing his wrists together in the small of his back to make him shut up.

“Now that I have your attention… this is only for your best, Frederick.”

“My best? There are cameras and microphones in this room, Dr. Lecter,” Chilton seethed, hiding behind formality to conceal the shaking in his bones. “Your every word and every action are being recorded. Let go of me, or I will show Jack Crawford just how right he was about you.”

“Frederick,” Hannibal insisted, bending low over Chilton, his lips almost touching the man’s ear once again. He could see the little hairs in Chilton’s neck stand up. “Do you still not understand? This is your repentance.”

“If I want repentance, I’ll go to a church and get absolution, now let go of me!”

“What do you think will happen if you show this footage to Jack Crawford?”

“He’ll see that he was right about you!”

“Wrong.” Hannibal let go of Chilton’s wrists, putting one hand on his neck instead while he leaned back up. “If Jack Crawford were to see this footage, he would know just how right he was about _you_. You admitted to using psychic driving on Abel Gideon. You told me about going to Jack Crawford even though his suspicions were supposed to be kept a secret. This footage will expose you as an unorthodox psychiatrist, a liar and a backstabber.”

A shiver ran through Chilton’s body at this.

“I wasn’t… I never…”

“You never what?”

“I never meant for any of this to happen… I, I only ever wanted my colleagues to accept me like they did you and my patients to respect me like they do Alana Bloom! _Is that so wrong_?”

His voice broke a little at that last part, and Chilton must have noticed it himself because he started struggling again, albeit half-heartedly.

“Haven’t you had enough fun yet? Congratulations, you won against the cripple, let’s move on.”

The annoyance in Chilton’s voice only barely masked his fear and irritation.

“I will not do this against your will, Frederick,” Hannibal said, lifting his hand from the man’s neck and leaning back in the armchair.

Chilton stilled.

“Are you serious?”

“Dead serious. I _am_ your friend, I would never harm you or ridicule you with a malicious intention.”

“Then… why this?”

Chilton’s question was accompanied by a vague gesture encompassing their current seating arrangements.

“You were in need of rightful punishment. As your friend, I opted to give it to you. But if you would rather not, I fully understand.”

“Just so we’re clear… what do you understand under rightful punishment? This awfully much feels like you were about to spank me like I was a little child.”

“We are all but children in God’s eyes,” Hannibal replied simply.

Chilton had propped himself up on Hannibal’s leg with an elbow, looking back at him.

“You really do mean all… this, don’t you?”

“Yes.”

“What am I supposed to say now? I… I don’t even know how we ended up here!”

“You could say yes, too.”

“I… I can’t say yes to this, Hannibal! I have appearances to maintain.”

Chilton looked down again, his face flaming up with a blush that went down to his neck.

“Not here, not for me,” Hannibal reminded. “We are-“

“Friends, yes, yes I know. I hardly think it’s, I mean… it’s highly unorthodox for people to spank their friends!”

“I think we have already established that we are, indeed, unorthodox people.”

With Chilton vulnerable in front of him like that, the urge to end the small man’s life became stronger again, always bubbling just below the surface as it was. Still, his usefulness outweighed his annoying habits at this point, so Hannibal tried again.

“Get up if you want, I respect you too much to force the matter.”

That was obviously the right thing to say because Chilton’s blush crept down down down until it vanished into the line of his collar, dark red distractingly intense next to clean white.

He muttered something, his delicately manicured hands clutching Hannibal’s trouser leg.

“What did you say?” Hannibal asked, leaning forward, his chest touching Chilton’s back.

“I said, spank me, Hannibal.”

Hannibal almost admired how much effort this must have cost the man, tense as he was, so tightly coiled that he was about to burst any moment. Before he could change his mind again out of embarrassment, Hannibal brought his hand down on Chilton’s rear end with a dull thump.

Chilton responded with a soft grunt, gripping Hannibal’s leg tighter.

“No, no wait, I don’t think this’ll work.”

“Why not? If you are referring to the pain, a spanking is supposed to hurt.”

“No, it’s, it’s my stomach. You are a very thin man and your knees are quite bony.”

Doing his best not to roll his eyes, Hannibal grabbed a pillow from the couch and stuffed it between Chilton and him.

“Better?”

“Bett- AH!”

This time, his slap apparently hit home and Chilton couldn’t keep a surprised yelp down. Annoyed when his leg was gripped even tighter, Hannibal bent down and held Chilton’s wrists against the small of his back once more.

Chilton had averted his face in the meantime. He was hanging over Hannibal’s knees like a boneless rag doll in an expensive suit, feet barely touching the ground.

“You hate this.”

Hannibal brought his hand down again, feeling a little sting in his own palm this time. When Chilton didn’t answer, he hit him again, eliciting a pained groan.

“I do.”

“Do you want me to stop?”

No answer.

Another slap.

Chilton mumbled something intelligible, so another slap had him gulp in a deep breath of air.

“Don’t stop…”

Hannibal’s hand was poised in the air, waiting.

“Please, Hannibal, don’t, don’t make me beg.”

“If you think this is not going to end with you begging for my hand on your behind, you and I have had entirely different conversations until now, Frederick.”

Another slap to drive the point home had Chilton howling, bucking up against Hannibal’s grip.

“Get on with it!” Chilton snarled now, wiggling this way and that, obviously not quite knowing what to do with himself. Properly trained, he could be very good at this. “ _Please_.”

Satisfied, Hannibal started raining blow upon blow on Chilton’s arse and the back of his thighs, appreciating hearing the small man grunt and groan half in embarrassment and half in pain. That mixture was enjoyable enough under different circumstances, but Hannibal was going somewhere else with this.

He started massaging Chilton’s cheeks between the slaps, caressing the flesh before brutalising it and drawing appreciative little noises from his subject. They steadily grew in frequency and soon, he had Chilton writhing on his lap.

“You can’t tell me this is the first time you’re doing this, Hannibal.” Chilton’s breathing came hard now, his voice somewhere between cocky and vulnerable.

“I never said it was,” Hannibal replied, undermined by another slap that had Chilton arch his back. “Yet, you are not unaccustomed to this either.”

“We were all, ah!, young once.” But certain, certain… oh god, certain practices don’t lend themselves kindly to the life of a psychiatrist.”

“I understand.”

Hannibal rewarded disclosure of information with another precise slap, wrecking a broken sob from Chilton’s chest. He let go of the man’s wrists, waiting for a second. When Chilton’s arms stayed put dutifully, Hannibal reached for his neck, aiming to push it down. His hand almost shrunk back when it touched Chilton’s feverish skin, the flesh so hot against his touch that Hannibal felt a smile bloom on his face.

“You said you hate this, and yet you crave the subjugation, the degradation of it. Why is that?”

He undermined subjugation and degradation with two sharp slaps, leaving Chilton fighting for breath before he answered.

“Let’s… not get philosophical here. This is merely an, uhm, business arrangement. A business arrangement that won’t leave this room, of course,” he added, becoming antsy again.

“Nothing of this will leave this room,” Hannibal assured, stroking Chilton’s bottom and making him whimper, “but I demand an answer to my question.”

“I’m, I don’t know, I just, please Hannibal. Please, don’t make me speak, just, just make me scream.”

“Why?”

His hand left Chilton’s arse, resting on the back of the man’s thighs, completely still.

“Hannibal, dear Lord, I, I’m-” Chilton’s hands opened and closed into fists where they still rested on his back, and Hannibal imagined that his mouth must be doing the same.

“Why?” He asked the question again, pushing Chilton’s neck down more.

He felt Chilton go still. Not a deer caught in the headlights kind of still, it was the kind of stillness that came with somebody accepting their fate.

“You really need this, Frederick.” It was a statement, not a question, but there was bewilderment in Hannibal’s voice.

Chilton just nodded, wordlessly, almost soundlessly, his eyes tightly shut.

“Get up.”

“What?” His simple command had brought life into the man again, making him twist around, trying to look at him. “Hannibal, please, don’t do this to me, not… not now, after, during, this.”

Hannibal was determined, though, pulling Frederick up. When resistance was futile, the man went like wet clay, standing awkwardly next to Hannibal’s legs with his hands still on his back. His eyes wandered from Hannibal’s legs to the couch, to his desk, the door, but never to Hannibal’s face.

When he had let him suffer enough, Hannibal bent forward, breaking right through Chilton’s flinching and opening his belt with deft precision. There was no audible response from Chilton when the metal buckle made a dull clonk on the hardwood floor, but Hannibal saw his tense shoulders slump in relief.

“You have no erection,” Hannibal finally stated, opening button and fly and almost gently bending the man over his knee again. To say he was surprised would be an understatement. He had been almost completely sure that Chilton was pursuing some form of sexual fulfilment with this, but apparently, he was very much not.

Meanwhile, Chilton had shut down completely, hanging limply over Hannibal’s legs.

Nonplussed, he pulled the man’s trousers over his arse, his ridiculously expensive underpants following suit. Chilton hissed when his feverish flesh was exposed and hissed again when Hannibal traced the angry red marks his hand had already left there. In an afterthought, while still revelling in the beautiful destruction his hand had already dealt, Hannibal grabbed the belt from the floor. Instead of spanking Chilton with it, he wrapped it around his wrists a couple of times, firmly securing it. There was no resistance.

With one hand back on Chilton’s neck, Hannibal slapped him again with the other. The sound was completely different without two layers of fabric obstructing it and the reaction much more intense. Chilton arched his back, grunting and thrashing against the restraints around his wrists.

Much more pleased with such an immediate effect, Hannibal found back into their old rhythm, caressing and hitting in turn, making Chilton writhe and thrash on his lap, breathing growing ever more ragged.

For a middle-aged psychiatrist spending a lot of his time behind his desk, Chilton was remarkably fit. There was no soft flesh around his middle as there was wont to be with other men his age and his arse was a lot more well-defined than it had any right to be. You could almost call it enticing, if you were into that sort of thing. Needless to say, Hannibal wasn’t, but it helped that Chilton was attractive enough, considering.

When Hannibal kneaded the firm muscle with a strong grip, Chilton whimpered. His flesh was already quite sensitive and his skin hot to the touch, prompting Hannibal to push down just a bit more.

“Fuck, Hannibal, I’m, this is too much- hah! Don’t, please, don’t stop…”

“Tell me, Frederick, why do you crave this so?”

He planted another firm slap on Chilton’s bottom, drawing another broken whimper from his subject.

“I’m, I need it, Hannibal, need…”

“Need what, Frederick?”

“I need you to spank me like you mean it, please!”

Such an admission from his normally arrogant colleague would have been enough under different circumstances, but as it were, Hannibal needed more. So he just kept on massaging, waiting for Chilton’s inner war to be over. He already knew which side was going to win, and it wasn’t either of Chilton’s.

A shaky exhale of air.

“You really want me to say it, don’t you?”

“Yes.”

“I…” A gulp, and then, stronger: “I need to not be in control. I want to, no, need to be restrained and held down, but… above all, I want you to hurt me, and I want you to mean it.”

“Good boy,” Hannibal made himself coo, combing through the half-damp hair at the back of Chilton’s neck and making him whimper. “Now, where were we…”

With renewed vigour, he landed a rain of blows on Chilton’s arse and his thighs, until the man was a moaning, writhing wreck, the mutterings coming from his mouth barely coherent. Hannibal would have liked to have gagged him, but he needed him to speak during this.

Hannibal reached behind himself on the arm chair where he had put Chilton’s cane and, without warning, brought it down on his owner’s rear end. There was a resounding “Thwack!” and a split second of complete and utter silence before realisation kicked in.

“Hannibal!” Chilton was mewling by now and that brought a small smile on Hannibal’s face.

He hit him again with the cane, and again, and again, until Chilton’s carefully-constructed shell broke. He was crying out now with every blow, sometimes obscenities, but mostly wordless cries of ecstasy edged with pain.

They kept this rhythm up for a while, Chilton still angling his arse up towards Hannibal to keep him going through his cries. It was only when that stopped that Hannibal let off and put the cane back.

Chilton’s arse was properly wrecked now, angry red welts crossing on his thighs and his buttocks with all the surrounding flesh varying shades of red. That would be a bruise to behold.

Reminding himself that he wasn’t done here, Hannibal put his hand on Chilton’s thighs again, massaging the less red parts softly. Chilton was still breathing heavily, face turned away from Hannibal and the arm chair.

“Still so stubborn,” Hannibal chided, gently smacking his arse again.

Chilton mewled a little at that.

“You have nothing to fear here, Frederick, I am your friend and we are doing this for your benefit.”

This time, when he smacked him again, Chilton whimpered, a pitiful sound resounding deep in his chest. Another smack had him give a small yell and with the third, gentle slap, Chilton was sobbing outright, hiding his face in Hannibal’s trouser leg.

A few more soft smacks that hardly deserved the name and Chilton was gone, crying his eyes out and flexing his wrists in their unrelenting prison. He was buckling up against Hannibal’s grip on his neck now, too, and with every further slap, his resistance became stronger. That is, until it stopped, completely, and Chilton was only softly crying like a lost little rag doll again.

Knowing that now was the time, Hannibal freed his wrists and guided Chilton in an upright position, turning him around so that he was sitting on Hannibal’s lap. He put his arms around the man, one around his waist and one behind his head, cradling it against the hollow of Hannibal’s neck.

Chilton’s arms must have been a bit numb still because he was cradling them in his lap for a time before deciding to hug himself with them. Hannibal would have almost felt sorry for how the man was still so very afraid of his organs spilling out.

“Shh, be still, Frederick,” Hannibal soothed, stroking his back.

Chilton was still crying into Hannibal’s neck, broken little sobs spilling out of his mouth now, making him seem even smaller than he already was.

Hannibal just sat and rocked him for a while until his breathing had become slower again, interrupted from time to time by small hiccups.

“There, Frederick, see? Everything is much better now, is it not?”

Chilton merely nodded, burying his nose deeper in Hannibal’s neck and crying some more. Hannibal forced himself to stay docile. He pried Chilton’s arms apart with one hand, working it under his shirt and splaying his long fingers over the puckered scar tissue he found there. Chilton’s breath hitched against his throat, his pulse becoming so erratic that Hannibal could feel it thrumming in the air between them.

“We have to make sure something like this does not happen again, Frederick,” Hannibal said, ever so softly.

There was a half-hearted attempt to remove Hannibal’s hand from his stomach, but he would not let himself be swayed.

“No, I, I don’t want this to happen again,” Chilton finally answered, leaning back a little and looking up at Hannibal.

His eyes were red and slightly puffy, cheeks wet from the tears, and there was still the smell of fear rolling off him in waves.

It was the first time Hannibal would have called him beautiful.

“So, we have to make sure Abel Gideon and Will Graham cannot implement their scheme.”

Chilton nodded, swallowing.

After that, the man told him everything he knew.

Not only about Jack Crawford’s scheme to take some food to go to have it tested, but also about other things Will and Gideon had talked about, be it with each other, or Alana Bloom, Jack Crawford, just… everything.

When Chilton was done, his voice was stronger than it had been right after the spanking, but there was still a certain kind of rawness about it he sought to mask by being his usual flippant self. Hannibal let him.

“Alright,” Chilton finally said, clearing his throat and getting up laboriously.

Hannibal watched him struggle, how he wobbled while closing his pants, how he had to stretch to reach his cane and how he bent down to pick up his belt from the ground, wincing when the fabric of his pants moved over his sensitive bottom.

As if on cue, Hannibal got up and took the belt from Chilton.

“Hannibal-”

“Shh.”

It was cruel of him to step up close to Chilton, only a hair’s breadth separating his chest from Chilton’s back. Leaning over the man’s shoulder, he pushed the belt through the loops, one at a time, closing it as tightly as he dared.

(Which was pretty tight.)

Chilton winced, and then he leaned back.

Hannibal let him.

When Chilton craned his neck upwards to look at him, Hannibal indulged him and thus ended up with an armful of psychiatrist when Chilton decided to turn around.

So it was that Hannibal finally got to taste what that feisty tongue tasted like.

He grabbed Chilton’s arse, making him wince.

With a smug smile hidden away in his thoughts, Hannibal started to count down the days until he could bite down for real on that tongue.

 


End file.
